


The Invisible Man

by littlespider9



Series: Anatomy of a Team [1]
Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: Friendship, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Military, Team Dynamics, Teambuilding, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlespider9/pseuds/littlespider9
Summary: Amir was good at working alone. Then he got reassigned.The former CIA operative learns what it means to be part of a team and his teammates learn what it means to be Amir Al-Raisani.





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> The Brave ended up being my favorite tv show discovery of the year. I've rewatched the entire series an embarrassing number of times and cannot wait for the rest of Season One!
> 
> In the meantime, I've developed quite a headcanon for Amir. So while I should probably emphasize that the later chapters in this fic will NOT be canon, I'm really happy with the backstory I have mapped out for him and how it all ties together.
> 
> So enjoy this first chapter and hope you stick around for more!
> 
> \--
> 
> Disclaimer: Some of the dialogue is taken from the actual episodes and, obviously, does not belong to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McG learns a little more about their new teammate.

Joseph “McG” McGuire reclined on a roof in Syria, sipping water and taking in the view as the rest of his team regrouped. In his peripherals, McGuire could see Adam Dalton, their team leader, pacing back and forth as he butted heads with command in DC.

“I thought you were gonna end that guy in the market,” McGuire commented to Jaz as she stripped out of her hijab next to him.

She smirked broadly. “They get grabby, I get crabby.”

McGuire snorted a laugh. Crabby didn’t even begin to cover it. He pitied any man who decided to try his luck and mess with Jasmine Khan. The woman was lethal.

On the other side of Jaz, Ezekiel "Preach" Carter spoke up. “You know, show me a man who believes in something greater, that’s a man I’ll fight beside.”

Preach’s words drew McGuire’s attention back to the newest member of their team, Amir Al-Raisani, who’d just risen from his prayer mat and was carefully and deliberately folding it down into a single neat square. The man was on extended loan from the CIA and that was about all McGuire knew about him. Of course, he trusted Amir because Dalton trusted Amir, but besides that he didn’t really know what to think of the smaller man. He was quiet, unassuming, and soft-spoken. McGuire had a hard time picturing Amir raising his voice, let alone handling a gun.

“Amir, doesn’t it make you a little angry to be sitting in a mosque praying next to a guy who might blow your head off someday?” McGuire wondered aloud, trying to draw the new guy out a bit.

Instead, Amir simply gave him a sidelong glance as he tucked his prayer mat away in his bag. His face was stoic, only a hint of something (defensiveness? frustration?) showing in his dark eyes. “Makes me angrier than you, as a non-Muslim, could ever understand.”

From behind Amir’s head, Preach gave McGuire a pointed look. _Don’t ask stupid questions._

McGuire resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

Across the roof, Dalton’s voice rose. He kept his tone fairly measured, but McGuire could practically see the frustration radiating off his CO’s shoulders. “I understand Amir is new, but he spent three years undercover with ISIS. I vetted him. I trust him. If he tells me it’s gonna work, it’s gonna work.”

Three years with ISIS. McGuire liked to consider himself a brave man, hell you had to be in this line of work, but even he shuddered at the idea of embedding with a terror cell. ISIS leaders were known to be volatile and suspicious of those around them. How someone as non-threatening as Amir had lasted a week with ISIS, let alone three years, was beyond him.

“Okay, so then what’s the alternative?” Dalton asked sharply, turning on his heel again. Amir shifted slightly and McGuire glanced over at him. Even if they could only hear one side of the conversation, it seemed pretty obvious the team in DC didn’t share Dalton’s enthusiasm for their new intelligence officer. “We take him to a CIA safe house? It’s gonna take them a week to break him. That’s time that we don’t have. The only way Akmuti gives up Wells’ location is if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.”

Dalton paused, waiting on orders from Washington. Then he nodded. “Alright. Switching.”

The team leader walked over to his team and waved what was left of his protein bar at Amir. “You’re up.”

Amir nodded once and McGuire was surprised to see a change almost instantaneously. The shorter man furrowed his brow and hunched his shoulders ever so slightly. When he turned back to Top, even his movement was different, stiffer than his normal fluid movements. “When are we going in?”

“As soon as Command finds you a cover,” Top answered, biting off the last of his protein bar. “Until we know otherwise, we assume the threat against Kimberly Wells’ life is imminent.”

“Copy that,” McGuire answered for himself and the rest of the team as they watched Amir shrug out of his suit jacket and remove his sweater. He seemed to consider for a moment before untucking his shirt and running a hand roughly through his dark, curly hair.

As Amir prepared himself, Top issued their marching orders. “Okay, here’s the play. Preach and I put Amir in with Akmuti and secure him. Amir will take a run at him and then we’ll pull him for interrogation. McG, you’ll help Amir prep his restraints and Jaz, you’ll be our eyes outside in the truck. Amir, we’ll have a getaway vehicle waiting for you and Command will be in your ear the entire time.”

“Don’t worry, Top, I know what I’m doing.” Amir broke character for all of three seconds to quirk a single eyebrow at their CO. “Just make sure you don’t go too easy on me if you really wanna sell this thing.”

Dalton smirked back. “Roger that.”

Hannah Rivera’s voice came over their comms, her Arabic almost flawless. “ _Amir, ready when you are._ ”

Amir quirked his head to the side as he listened intently. He, too, dropped into Arabic. “ _Copy._ ”

“ _You’re Khamal Benin, one of Baghdadi’s chief financiers. Akmuti should have heard of you, though he won’t have dealt with any of the financiers directly._ ”

“ _Khamal Benin_ , _got it._ ” Amir smacked his own cheeks a few times to raise a flush, which McGuire had to admit as a nice touch. Then the man clasped his wrists together and held them out to Preach, who already had a ziptie waiting. “Alright, let’s do this.”

 

\--

 

None of them were prepared when Amir started struggling.

Dalton and Preach had him almost halfway down the stairs towards the basement room where they were holding Akmuti when Amir suddenly went limp. Unprepared for the sudden dead weight, the other two men practically dropped him. The second they dragged him back up to his feet, Amir was in character, grunting loudly at their manhandling and crying out in Arabic: _“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”_

Amir really sounded terrified. It just might have been the best acting McGuire had ever seen.

Of course, Dalton wasn’t one to be outdone in well, anything really, and he held up his half of the bargain handsomely. McGuire actually flinched himself when a sharp and resounding slap sounded through their comms.

When Dalton and Preach finally exited the room, both were almost out of breath. Dalton swiped at his glistening forehead with the back of his hand. “Told you he knows what he’s doing.”

The three soldiers stood tensely just outside the room, listening intently to their comms. McGuire had to admire Amir’s ability to adapt in the moment, taking the information Command was relaying and making it all sound genuine. Still, Akmuti didn’t seem to take the bait and remained silent.

Rivera was back in their comms. “Ok, Dalton, pull him out.”

Dalton slapped both Preach and McGuire on the back. “That’s our cue.”

McGuire waited until Dalton and Preach had dragged a resisting Akmuti out of the room and slammed the door behind them before he reached down to haul Amir to his feet. “Alright, let’s go.”

Amir held his wrists up so that McGuire could work at them with his knife, loosening the restraints so they could be removed easily enough. “That’s good.”

“Alright.” McGuire probably would’ve loosened them just a tad more, if it had been up to him, but as it was he sunk down into a crouch to work at the restraints around Amir’s ankles.

When McGuire stood back up, Amir had pulled his sleeve back from his forearm, which he offered to the taller man. “Now I need blood. Cut me.”

McGuire fixed Amir with a skeptical look. Maybe it was just his instincts as a medic, but he didn’t like the idea of injuring a teammate, no matter how superficial the wound. Amir’s answering gaze was steady. “Are you sure about that?”

Amir glanced at the door quickly, as if to remind the medic that they didn’t have much time. Then he actually smirked. “It’s gotta be real to sell this. And I’m not giving you a chance to punch me in the face.”

Caught off guard by the steady, deadpan humor, McGuire actually laughed before grabbing Amir’s bound wrists. Amir was the spy and, after all, it was his life on the line here. It was only fair to let him call the shots.

If McGuire was expecting a reaction when the blade of his knife bit into the fleshy part of Amir’s forearm, he was disappointed. As he made a cut along the top of the forearm, approximately three and a half inches in length and not deep to hit anything important, Amir’s only reaction was a slight grunt of discomfort. Blood immediately began to well up along the length of the cut.

So McGuire was a little surprised when Amir raised his arm again and said, “Squeeze it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m going to need more blood than that,” Amir said patiently. “And I can’t do it myself, so I need you to squeeze it.”

 _He knows what he’s doing_ , McGuire reminded himself as he reached out, gripped his teammate’s forearm, and squeezed at the freshly made cut. This time Amir did react, sucking in a breath and cursing harshly in Arabic as his arm jerked in the medic’s grasp. McGuire didn’t bother apologizing; the man knew what he had asked for.

But apparently, Command didn’t like the sound of what they were doing, because then Amir was talking, presumably, to the voice in his ear. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“How’s that?” McGuire asked, finally releasing the wound and doing his best to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as the stream of blood increased, dripping down Amir’s arm.

“That’s good.” Amir seemed pleased. Bringing his arm closer to his head, he smeared the blood from his forearm on to the point of his temple. A second later, McGuire got the idea and started to help.

When McGuire left the room a few minutes later, Top frowned at the blood on his medic’s hands. “What the hell is all that?”

McGuire raised his hands defensively. “Hey, you’re the one who said he knew what he was doing.”

 

\--

 

McGuire hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the transport back to base. He’d actually meant to pull Amir aside and patch him back up. Leave it to the new guy to find a way to injure himself on his very first op. But they’d all been wound tight for the past 24 hours and it had been impossible to fight the adrenaline crash.

He then thought he’d take a look at the guy as soon as they returned to base. But in the two minutes between landing and McGuire retrieving his pack and gear, Amir somehow managed to sneak past the medic. Not in the mood for a game of hide and seek, McGuire decided to cut to the chase.

He found Dalton hunched over the table in their common space, already hard at work on the massive stack of paperwork that came with every completed mission.

“Top, you seen Amir?”

“I think he’s inside,” Dalton answered, nodding his head towards their barracks. Then his gaze turned harder and McGuire got the distinct impression he was in some kind of trouble. “You wanna tell me whose idea it was to cut up our own guy?”

McGuire felt angry flare in his stomach. Did Top really think he’d endanger one of his own team members? As team medic, he was hyper-aware of the risk of even a cut as small as the one he’d given Amir. Injuries in the field always carried a high probability of infection and when the injury was to one of the limbs, there was also the risk of hampered mobility. Sure, McGuire wasn’t exactly Amir’s biggest fan, but that didn’t mean-

“Who the hell do you think?” McGuire ground out, trying to squash the voice in his head. Following that line of thought wasn’t going to do him, or Amir, any good.

To his surprise, Dalton sighed in resignation. “Thought as much. He’s - I’ll talk to him. You look at him yet?”

“I’m tryin’,” McGuire said in exasperation, lifting the med kit in his hands to Dalton’s eye level. “Not my fault he’s like a freaking ghost.”

Sure enough, McGuire found Amir in the barracks. He’d been assigned to the bottom bunk in Preach’s room, where McGuire found him carefully dabbing at his arm with what smelled like hydrogen peroxide. At the sound of the medic’s footsteps, Amir looked up.

McGuire couldn’t quite gauge the look on the other man’s face, so he opted for a relieved smile himself. “Hey, there you are. Didn’t Top tell you it’s my job to patch everyone up?”

Amir glanced at his arm and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

 _Not another one._ McGuire was used to dealing with difficult patients. Hell, half of his job as medic was to remind the other members of his team that no, they were not invincible and yes, that would get worse if they didn’t let him look at it. As the only non-military member of the team, he’d been hoping Amir would be a little more reasonable. Turns out he was wrong.

“Technically, you’re not fine until I’ve checked you out and declared you fit for duty,” McGuire stated, arms crossed and holding Amir’s gaze steadily. The exchange continued for almost a minute before Amir sighed and held out his arm for inspection.

Silently congratulating himself, McGuire kneeled down on the floor and opened his kit on the bed within easy reach. He pulled on a pair of sterile latex gloves and then took Amir’s arm in his hands for examination. It had been dark in that cellar, but it was a clean cut, only about a quarter of an inch deep. In retrospect, it was a bit long, but it had given them the blood they needed in the moment and McGuire wasn’t one to rethink the past.

Amir had done a good job of cleaning the gash, leaving no traces of dirt or old blood. Still, McGuire opted to clean it again just for good measure. The operative breathed slowly out through his nose as the stinging liquid made contact with the open wound.

McGuire’s only concern was that the gash had opened up slightly, probably when Amir had subdued the tangos in the hospital. “Doesn’t look too bad, but you definitely need a few stitches.”

Amir simply nodded silently, so McGuire got to work. He might have talked with his other teammates, joked around as he patched them up, but Amir was kind of closed off. McGuire could feel the other man watching him as he slowly and carefully stitched the torn skin back together and for what felt like the millionth time that day, he decided he did not understand Amir Al-Raisani.

Once the stitches were in place, McGuire smeared antibacterial cream over the length of the gash and covered the whole thing with two adhesive bandages to keep it clean. “Those’ll probably be in a week or two, so try not to get them wet. Come find me if you need to change the bandage.”

Amir nodded and made to get up, but McGuire wasn’t quite finished. He pushed the smaller man back down on his bunk and indicated his own neck. He hadn’t forgotten about the broken bottle that Al-Akmuti had pressed against Amir’s carotid. “Woah, hold up. Let me look at your neck.”

Surprisingly, Amir actually dodged the medic’s outreached hand. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Sure, until it turns out it’s infected and you’ve got puss oozing from your neck.” McG drew himself up to his full, impressive height, effectively blocking Amir’s exit. “Seriously, man, even Top’s a better patient than you.”

And with that single one-liner, a crack appeared in the operative’s stoic mask and he actually let out a short laugh. Although it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, Amir’s voice had a warm, rich tone that had McGuire racking his brains for another stupid joke. The flatness disappeared from Amir’s eyes and he actually looked a bit embarrassed.

“That bad, huh?”

McGuire shrugged, shining a penlight into the hollow of Amir’s neck to get a better look at the where Al-Akmuti had dug the point of a broken bottle into unprotected flesh. “Top hates treatment as much as the next guy, but at least he sits still and lets me get on with it.”

Amir tilted his head slightly to give McGuire better access. “Sorry.”

“Hey man, don’t apologize. Just let me do my job.”

Thankfully, Amir appeared to be right: it really was just a scratch. All the same, McGuire cleaned it with peroxide and smothered it in antibacterial cream. Seeing the growing bruise where Top had slapped Amir, McGuire did a quick check for concussion symptoms, though as he suspected, there was nothing to worry about.

“Alright, I think you’re good.” McGuire scooted to the side to let Amir up and to return stuff to his kit.

“Thanks,” Amir murmured, watching as the medic zipped his kit shut and stood to leave.

“Don’t worry about it.” McGuire was halfway out the door when he stopped short. Really, it was no wonder Amir seemed so closed off. He could only imagine how tough it was to join a team, especially one as close-knit as theirs, after years of working undercover. While Jaz was obviously giving the guy the cold shoulder, McGuire had to admit that he hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat himself. He turned back to Amir. “Look, I don’t know how things worked when you were undercover, but-”

Joe was cut off by a low chuckle from Amir. It wasn’t exactly what he would describe as a happy sound, but the medic quirked an eyebrow nonetheless. “What?”

“You really don’t know, do you?” Amir sounded half amused, half bitter. He paused, considering his words. “My work undercover was… well, let’s just say I never had much in the way of ground support. I guess I’m just used to keeping myself alive.”

McGuire was silent for a minute, taking it in. In reality, Amir hadn’t actually said much, but McGuire felt like the little he had shared spoke volumes. It explained why Amir kept things so close to the vest, why he was so quick on his feet, why Jaz’s icy behavior didn’t really seem to bother him. He was used to being on his own.

The medic knew this could actually be a dangerous trait in a teammate, that some men with solitary streaks tended to disregard orders and the safety of the rest of their team. But from what he’d seen so far, Amir didn’t have any of those tendencies. On the contrary, he had the equally scary habit of putting himself in harm’s way for the sake of the mission. McGuire wondered how long it would take Top to train that instinct out of the man, or if they even could.

“Well, now you’re a part of a team. And that means we keep each other alive.”


	2. Moscow Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's not easy being team leader. The team's not on their best behavior and Amir catches them a car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit that I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. But after staring at it for two weeks, I think this is as good as it's going to get!

Adam Dalton liked to consider himself a fairly simple man. He didn’t ask for much, just for a decent meal and a beer at the end of the day and for his team to make it back from their missions in one piece. If his team was happy, he was happy.

Which was why, relaxing with what remained of their barbecue, watching Jaz and McG play horseshoes and listening to Preach chat with his wife, Dalton was almost perfectly content. Almost, because his newest teammate was anything but relaxed.

Sitting on the tabletop off to Dalton’s right, Amir sighed. “I don’t know, Top. All those years, I thought working undercover was the hardest thing I’d ever do, but this… This doing nothing is harder.”

Dalton had known this was coming. Amir had been a CIA field operative for the last five years and was used to operating at a different pace. Any good field agent knew that when investigating and collecting intel after an incident, time was of the essence. Problem was, that wasn’t Amir’s job anymore.

“Amir,” Dalton said, reaching over to pat the other man’s knee reassuringly, “you’re still new, buddy.”

“21 people injured, four servicemen dead, and here we sit two weeks later like it didn’t even happen.” Amir rattled off, frowning off into the distance. Dalton wondered how many times the operative had repeated those numbers to himself since the accident.

The restlessness was to be expected and the survivor's guilt was completely natural. All the same, it was Dalton’s job as team leader to nip it in the bud before Amir drove himself crazy. 

“Do me a favor. Look out there.” Dalton pointed towards Jaz and McGuire as the medic took another throw. “What’s happening? You’ve got Jaz and McG talking smack, bitching about horseshoes, you got Preach talking to his family. That’s not ignoring what happened. Okay? It’s called moving on, which if you’re gonna be on a team like ours, that’s exactly what you’ve gotta do.” 

Amir still looked skeptical. “Even after the beach-”

“Especially after the beach,” Dalton interrupted. “Listen, the fantasy is that we go rogue, we go out there, we grab the guy that did this, and we get our revenge. In reality, we follow orders. In reality, our job is always the next mission. We are not the investigators, Amir. We’re the tip of the spear.” 

Dalton knew that Amir hadn’t asked for the transfer to a DIA Omega team; hell, from what he’d heard the operative had asked repeatedly to be placed back in the field on his old assignment. But Amir was here now and it was Dalton’s job to make sure that he could function within the team, on and off of active assignments. And apparently, that was going to start with clearly defining Amir’s new role.

“Top, can you please settle this argument?” McGuire strolled up to them with Jaz on his heels, waving a horseshoe around as he gesticulated. “Is there or is there not a game called ‘cornhole’?”

Dalton loved McG, he really did, but sometimes the medic didn’t have the best timing.

“Are you sure we’re the tip of the spear?” Amir asked dubiously, throwing Dalton a sideways glance.

Before Dalton could answer, a shrill beeping cut through the air, coming from the secured comm line in their bunker. Dalton responded immediately, rising and heading inside and could feel his team falling in behind him. Jaz strode her way to a position just at his elbow. “What did the new guy want?”

Her tone was hard, cold even, and Dalton frowned. Just like he’d known Amir was in for a bit of an adjustment period, he’d also known Jaz was going to need time to warm up to their new teammate. She and Elijah had been almost inseparable and although Jaz wasn’t really one to talk about her feelings, Dalton knew that she was still taking his loss incredibly hard. He’d hoped she’d be professional enough not to take it out on the new guy.

Dalton stiffled a sigh as he hit the cool interior of their team bunker. “Same as the rest of us. Justice.”

 

\---

 

Dalton and his team moved like ghosts. It took Preach all of five seconds to get through the security encryption and then another two for them to dispatch with the deadbolt that had been shoved hastily in place. They silently cleared the entire building of hostiles before moving to check the bodies.

Both of the outpost’s two intelligence analysts were dead, with multiple gunshots to the chest and torso. Dalton watched the lines around Amir’s eyes deepen when the man bent to take the female’s pulse and came up, shaking his head. 

Cassie Connor was collapsed up against the side of a desk, unconscious. As McGuire pulled his medkit out of his pack, Dalton spoke to Amir in a low voice. “Okay, Amir, this is your territory. Anything, in particular, we need to look for?” 

Amir frowned, scanning the single room. “All the computers seem to be accounted for, which is a bit odd. Other than that? Check that the locked cabinets actually have something inside.”

Preach nodded, already grabbing a stack of files off the nearest desk. “That’s it, huh? Would’ve thought the CIA had a few more tricks up their sleeves.”

“They might,” Amir admitted with a semi-apologetic shrug. “It’s been a while since I’ve worked out of anything so… official. Sorry.”

Dalton brushed off his apology, partly because Amir didn’t actually have anything to be sorry for and partly because of the way he kept staring at the dead bodies. “Okay, Preach, proceed with cleanse. Jaz, Amir, set up outside and keep a lookout. McG and I will clear Officer Conner and prep for exfil.”

 

\---

 

“So, what, they just left you there alone? With no backup and no comms?” McGuire asked around a mouthful of protein bar.

Dalton had made the executive decision to duck into an abandoned warehouse to get off the streets and away from the rebels’ far-reaching gaze. The team took full advantage of the relative safety, pulling together a few old chairs so they could sit and grab a quick bite to eat. Amir was the only one who refused to sit, too keyed up by the events of the day. Dalton couldn’t tell if this was his normal op behavior or if it was because this op hit just a little too close to home for the operative. 

Amir finally stopped pacing when McGuire asked him about his own time in the CIA in an attempt to draw him into their conversation. Currently, the operative was frowning down at his shoes as he considered how to answer.

“It wasn’t so bad. There were drop zones where I could hand off coded information or ask for assistance if necessary.” Amir twisted the cap of his water bottle. “The more frequently I made contact, the greater the risk of exposure.” 

“Okay, sure, but-”

“Dalton, go to a private line.” 

The Deputy Director cut McGuire off and stilled the entire team. Dalton glanced at their anticipatory faces before rising from his crouch and walking a few feet away. “Alright, go for Dalton.”

“Adam, I just spoke to Neil Koenig.” Patricia sounded tense which, combined with the fact that she’d used his first name, set off all kind of alarm bells for Dalton. The woman had nerves of steel and faced life or death decisions every day, so it was never a good sign when she actually sounded concerned. “While I cannot disclose what I was told, I can tell you what I believe based on the information given.”

Dalton braced himself. “Okay.”

“I believe every minute you are there, the enemy you are up against will grow in size and sophistication. I believe the forces that are looking for Cassie Connor will not hesitate to kill you and your team no matter what the political cost.” Patricia paused for a breath. “Last but not least, I believe if Cassie Connor falls into the wrong hands, the consequences will be global.”

If anyone else had used those words, Dalton might have written them off as dramatic. But coming from Patricia… Dalton sighed. “Understood, switching.”

He turned back to his team, who were doing their best to pretend they hadn’t just been trying to read his body language. He breathed and out, once, twice, and then made a decision. “All right. From here on out, it’s Moscow Rules. Safeties off, fingers on the trigger. We’re gonna make a play for the target indicated by the RFID.”

Preach and McGuire got to their feet and Jaz reached for her pack. Amir was the only one who didn’t move. Instead, the operative shook his head. “Top, it’s obviously a trap.”

“No one asked for your opinion,” Jaz cut in before Dalton could even open his mouth. 

Luckily, Amir gave as good as he got. “Well, maybe you should.”

“You’re probably right,” Dalton admitted, silencing another barb from Jaz with a single stern look. “Odds are, it is a trap.” 

Dalton had asked for an intelligence officer specifically because he wanted someone with a different point of view. So he had to at least acknowledge Amir’s concern as fair and probably accurate. If he’d been operating on his own, going into a likely trap was a completely unnecessary risk. However, Amir was forgetting, again, that he wasn’t on his own anymore.

“See, the thing about traps is that the people who set them tend to get tunnel vision. They fixate on their prey.  They imagine everything turning out exactly how they orchestrated. And they don’t stop to think for one second, maybe they’re the prey themselves.”

 

\---

 

“Ok, she’s in.”

Dalton pressed two fingers to his ear, acknowledged McGuire, and tried to settle into a more comfortable position behind the wheel of their truck. Of course, Jaz had figured out a way to talk herself past the rebels; she was more than capable of watching her own back. Dalton trusted her one hundred percent. Still… he fingered the binoculars in his lap and resisted the urge to bring them up to his face. Worrying was part of his job as team leader.

Behind him, Amir let out a long breath and Dalton allowed himself to glance at the other man in the rearview mirror. Amir looked calm enough, reclining against the seatback, but his gaze was attentive, trained on the two rebels who’d stopped Jaz and who were still lingering on the sidewalk outside the bathhouse. Dalton allowed himself a smirk. Despite all of Jaz’s ribbing, Amir hadn’t hesitated to jump into action when she’d run into the rebels. He’d do just fine as a member of their team.

“Jaz can handle herself,” Dalton commented, though he wasn’t sure if who he was trying to convince. He felt more than heard Amir nod behind him.

“I’m sure she can,” Amir agreed with a low chuckle. The operative paused for a beat. “And Top, I’m sorry about earlier. Jaz was right. You didn’t ask for my opinion and it wasn’t my place to question you.”

Dalton shrugged. He didn’t blame Amir for his earlier outburst; it was just another growing pain of settling into life on a team. And the last thing he needed was for Amir to start questioning his gut. “You’ve got good instincts, Amir. You don’t have to apologize for that. But you’re not on your own anymore, you’re part of a team. We can handle situations you never could’ve tackled alone. So your instincts aren’t wrong, you’ve just gotta adjust them a little.”

Before Amir could respond, a small fleet of rebel trucks pulled up in front of the bathhouse in a rush of screeching tires. A door flew open and Major Zbarov climbed out. Top was already moving when McGuire’s voice came through his earwig. 

“Top, we’ve got a problem.”

“Yep,” Dalton confirmed, glancing at Amir quickly. He needn’t have bothered; the operative was already tucking Jaz’s handgun into his own waistband and easing open his door. “We gotta move.”

They rendezvoused with Preach and McGuire in the alleyway behind the building McGuire had chosen for his overwatch perch. Dalton breathed deeply, trying to dispel his frustration at the fact that this was yet another snag. 

“What’s the plan?” Preach asked as soon as they were all in earshot.

See, this was the problem with being team leader, Dalton decided. Everyone expected him to have an endless bag of tricks. He listened vaguely as Jaz narrated her discovery of Conner over their comms. They were definitely going to need a vehicle to get the analyst out of here.

McGuire was getting antsy; he glanced toward the main road for the tenth time. “Top, we’ve gotta move. This place is swarming with Russians." 

“Actually,” Amir spoke up, his brow furrowed in thought, “that’s not a problem.”

Preach and McGuire exchanged a look so quickly Dalton almost wondered if he’d imagined it. The tall tech specialist raised an eyebrow. “It’s not?”

Amir shook his head, though he directed his intensely dark gaze at their CO. “Top, there’s nowhere better to hide than right under the Russian’s noses. They’ll never think to suspect one of their own trucks.” 

At that moment, Dalton knew exactly why he’d brought Amir on. Sure, his team was efficient, effective, adaptable and deadly. But Amir had a certain mental nimbleness and tactical fluidity that the others didn’t. He was used to improvising and it meant Dalton didn’t have to do all the strategizing completely on his own. Adam made a mental note to remember to ask Amir his opinion more often.

The idea to steal one of the rebels trucks was beautifully simple and not a moment too late, because Patricia’s measured voice brought him back to the issue at hand. “Dalton, do you have a plan for getting Conner out of there? There’s no way she’s gonna pass on the streets. The rebels are searching every car.” 

Dalton gave Amir an approving nod. “Not every car.”

Amir returned the nod and together they started to head further down the alley before making a sharp right onto a larger side street. Dalton could hear Preach and McG striding steadily behind them, though the medic sounded skeptical. “And how, exactly, do you plan on getting your hands on one of their trucks?" 

It turns out Amir had a plan for that, too. Once they put eyes on a rebel vehicle heading towards the bathhouse, they set their trap. Dalton and Preach tucked themselves into the recesses of one building, while McGuire crouched behind a stack of crates across the alley. When the truck was about a building’s length away, Amir counted down a steady _three, two, one_ , and ran out into the middle of the alleyway, hands raised above his head. 

Dalton was half expecting to hear the sickening crunch of a body against the hood of the vehicle, but the driver actually slammed on his breaks just like Amir said he would when the passenger gave a warning shout. The two men had enough time to throw an insult or two at Amir before McGuire and Dalton shut them up for good with a few steady shots. Preach hauled the driver out of the car, silencing the screeching horn, and Amir dragged the passenger’s body into the shadows behind McGuire’s stack of crates. Four car door slams later and they were speeding down the alley towards the bathhouse. 

In total, the whole operation took maybe 30 seconds.

“All right, Jaz. We’re en route. Figure 90 seconds to you. You know what side you’re gonna be coming out?”

“We’re on the East side.” 

“Alright, copy east,” Dalton acknowledged as he scanned the road for any trouble.

In the back seat, McGuire cleared his throat. “How’d you know he wasn’t going to hit you?”

Amir shrugged and, not for the first time, Dalton wondered whether the operative liked being underestimated. “I didn’t.”

“Ballsy move.” Even Preach sounded impressed.

“Doesn’t always work,” Amir admitted. “The last time I tried, the driver looked down at the last second and I ended up crashing through his windshield. Broke three ribs and was out a week with a concussion.”

Even as he turned down yet another alley, Dalton threw Amir a frown. He didn't know what was more troubling, the fact that Amir had neglected to share this piece of information or the fact that it sounded suspiciously like something Dalton himself might do. The operative noticed immediately. “What? Would you have let me do it if I’d told you that before?” 

Dalton could only shake his head. “No, probably not.”

 

\--

 

Adam Dalton liked to consider himself a fairly simple man. He didn’t ask for much, just for a decent meal and a beer at the end of the day and for his team to make it back from their missions in one piece. So standing at the grill while his teammates played a very energetic game of horseshoes, Dalton was almost perfectly content. Almost, because the shepherd mix that had all but elected himself their team mascot wasn’t listening. Again. 

“Hey, Patton.” Dalton tried again, gesturing like he’d done with the herding dogs on his uncle’s farm. “No, lay down. Lay-” 

Patton simple quirked his head, which Dalton was pretty sure was the dog equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “This is pointless.” 

Jaz approached as Dalton tossed the dog a chunk of hot dog and laughed into her beer. “Seems like no one wants to listen to you.”

“Yeah, I’m sensing a pattern,” Dalton said, returning to his position at the grill.

Jaz all but winced at the gruffness of his reply. “Listen, I was wrong to question you when we were waiting on DC.” 

Dalton sighed. He couldn’t say he was entirely happy with his team’s behavior on this op, but he didn’t want to think about that today. Sure if they acted that way again, he’d have them running drills and doing cringe-worthy team building exercises, but today was a good day because everyone made it home in one piece. “Well, you were frustrated.”

“I was wrong,” Jaz pressed. “Doing nothing was the right call. And it was your call, and I’m sorry.” 

Dalton couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Jaz admit to something like that. He clicked the tongs near his ear. “What was that? I thought I heard something.”

Jaz laughed. “I don’t think anyone said anything.” 

If her laugh sent a flood of warmth to his stomach, Dalton chose to ignore it. Instead, he rewarded her honesty with some of his own. “Look, when I was a kid, my old man used to get sloppy as hell. Only thing I could do was wait. Just sit there, take whatever he threw at me, let it pass. Something all you can do is wait.”

Jaz nodded in deference. “People like us don’t do powerless very well.” 

“You think?” Top snorted.

Behind them, McGuire gave a loud whoop and Preach clapped loudly. Both Dalton and Jaz turned to watch as the two taller men congratulated Amir for hitting the stake for the fourth straight time. Dalton smiled at the sight of the new guy relaxing a bit and Jaz noticed.

“You’re not going to make me apologize to Amir, too, are you?”

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Might encourage Jaz to ease up on the ice queen act she put on every time Amir was around. Dalton raised an eyebrow at her. “Depends. You gonna mouth off at him again?”

Jaz shrugged. “Can’t make any promises.” 

Dalton snorted a laugh. That was probably as good as he was going to get from Jaz, for now at least. He turned his gaze back to Amir, who was now watching intently as Preach attempted to beat his perfect streak. “He didn’t ask to be here, you know. I asked for the best and the CIA sent us him.”

Apparently, Jaz could tell that Dalton hadn’t quite made his point because she sent him a quizzical look before he continued. “I’m just saying, Amir’s not here to replace Elijah, nor is he trying to. So try and cut him some slack, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” Jaz allowed, this time with a chagrined nod.

“Good.” Top snagged a burger patty off the grill with his tongs and gave Jaz one last smirk before heading over to the table. “Besides, he might even be able to teach you a thing or two.” 

Jaz laughed and hurried to follow the team leader. “What the hell does that mean?”


	3. The Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top and Amir have a contingency plan. McG is less than impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I don’t believe for one second that Boothe would've made Amir in front of the salon if Amir hadn't wanted him to.

McGuire didn’t like this plan at all. Not even a little bit.

Bug a notorious arms dealer to gain access to his network of bad guys? It was a once and a lifetime opportunity and a no-brainer. But bug a notorious arms dealer by asking Amir to pickpocket the guy and hoping for the best? McGuire wasn’t so sure.

“Amir?” Even Top sounded vaguely anxious in McGuire's earwig. “How you feeling, buddy?”

“Oh, I’m totally relaxed.”

McGuire resisted the urge to turn around to check on Amir for himself. The operative’s voice was calm and McGuire could only hope that his hands were just as steady. Even with their planned distraction, this was going to be tight. If Boothe’s bodyguard thought anything was hinky, it would probably take him all of five seconds to have his gun out and maybe another half second to pull the trigger. That didn’t give Amir much time to get clear and McGuire had been forced to leave his med kit in the truck-

“Alright, McGuire, I got Lazkani coming at you.” Top’s sharp report snapped the medic back to attention. “He’s got two in his detail.”

McGuire would never achieve the same “invisible man” status as Amir, but for a big guy, he could be remarkably subtle. He let his gaze follow a passing bellhop and, as the young man crossed in front of the entry, IDed Lazkani and the two hired guns who trailed not far behind him. “Copy. I see him.”

The voice of Hannah Rivera spoke up from DC to mark the time and McGuire couldn’t help but notice even she sounded unusually tense. “Boothe is 60 seconds out.”

In the farthest corner of his peripherals, McGuire could see Amir glance quickly up at Jaz, who’d picked her perch up on the balcony and had discarded her drink in favor of dangling her hands over the railing in a somewhat relaxed manner. She looked striking in a dark floral dress and heels, but McGuire couldn’t help but think he’d feel better if she’d had her rifle instead.

For his part, Amir sipped at his club soda. If McGuire didn’t know him any better, he would’ve thought the other man didn’t have a care in the world.

“Okay, Dalton, you should have eyes on Boothe any second now.” Hannah again.

“Alright, got him. Okay, everybody, it’s game time.”

McGuire tensed, allowing Dalton and Vargez’s voices to fade into the background as they identified Boothe and his mistress. McGuire’s table was positioned at exactly perpendicular to the walkway where Amir would engage Boothe. Looking down at the glossy tiles, the medic estimated he could reach Amir in four, maybe three good strides if needed.

“Uh, Amir, hold on, slow your role. We got a wrinkle. Boothe’s on the phone.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” There it was, the tiniest crack in Amir’s carefully constructed cool.

The three-second pause before Dalton spoke again felt like a lifetime. “No, cancel that. Cancel that. He’s hanging up. Phone is in his left pocket. I repeat, it’s in his left pocket. Coming at you now.”

McGuire’s pulse spiked, throbbing lightly in his jugular as he through a final glance at Amir. The operative pushed his drink aside, tugged on his suit jacket, and began his approach.

“Thirty feet.” Jaz’s voice was crisp in McGuire’s ear.

McGuire eyed the party that had just walked in the door. Any other day and he would have taken the time to appreciate the curves and glossy hair of Boothe’s mistress, but as it was he spared her just a fleeting glance before eyeing the men flanking the one and only Ranier Boothe. Keller, Boothe’s head of security, kept his gaze moving, sweeping for potential threats.

McGuire could only hope that Amir, who was strolling casually towards the party, looked unremarkable enough.

“Twenty feet.”

The medic forced himself to remain still, sliding one hand into his pocket.

“Ten.”

Amir was almost right on top of Boothe when the arms dealer reached for his pocket and Jaz was sounding a retreat. “Abort. Repeat abort.”

Amir swerved left, just barely avoiding colliding with their target. For his part, Boothe didn’t seem to have noticed. He was too busy cracking his ridiculously expensive cell phone in half.

McGuire watched as the man dropped the now useless hunks of metal into the hotel’s fountain. “Son of a bitch just cracked it in half.”

“I don’t-” Top sounded frustrated. “He cracked what in half?”

“His cell. He treats it like a $100,000 burner phone.” Amir hissed darkly and for the first time, McGuire thought he could hear a hint of the man who had survived three years embedded with ISIS. “If we’re gonna plant a bug on him, we’re gonna have to find another way.”

 

\--

 

Back at their safehouse, Dalton resisted the urge to rub at his temple. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to bug a man like Ranier Boothe. What he hadn’t expected was that their local contact, Agent Vargez, would be so emotionally compromised. The man wasn’t thinking straight.

“Hey Agent Vargez,” Dalton started, “look, you and I both know that in our business, we’re always reacting to a fluid situation. Now, planting a bug on Boothe, using him as a source, that’s a chance to be proactive.”

Dalton gave Vargez a hard look and dropped what he hoped would be the most convincing line. “That’s a chance to keep him from hurting any more innocent people.”

It took Vargez a minute, but eventually, he met Dalton’s gaze. He took a deep breath and nodded. “There’s a salon. She goes there when she’s in town.”

“Thank you. Give Preach the address and we’ll start a work up.” Dalton gave Vargez an encouraging nod in return before turning back to his team. “Amir-”

But when Dalton turned, only Jaz and Preach were sitting at the large table. The team leader frowned; he could’ve sworn Amir’d been there just a second ago. “Where the hell is Amir?”

“He’s outside,” Jaz responded, cocking her head towards the door in a single, short motion. Dalton noticed that while she was still trying to keep up the ice queen facade when it came to their newest team member, her brows furrowed ever so slightly it what seemed to be… concern?

Wondering what that was all about, Dalton excused himself and strode out the door to the covered car park just outside. Sure enough, Amir was off to the side of the van they’d intended to blow up, pacing. As Dalton got closer, he realized something was off. He could see lines of tension in Amir’s taut arms, in the way his hands kept clenching and unclenching into fists.

Even more concerning was that the operative didn’t seem to hear his approach. Dalton hadn’t known Amir for very long, but never in their short acquaintance had he seen the man caught off guard. Crossing his arms over his chest, Dalton cleared his throat. “Amir.”

Although years of experience kept Amir from actually jumping, the look he shot at Dalton was one of genuine surprise before it smoothed over into faint annoyance.

“You okay, buddy?” Dalton asked somewhat cautiously, unsure of what to make of his intelligence officer’s mood.

“I’m fine.”

Amir’s tone was sharp, hostile even, and Dalton quirked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. Damn. The man was actually spooked.

Amir held Dalton’s gaze challengingly for another few seconds before the intelligence officer visibly deflated. “Look, this is why I don’t like working off of other people’s intel. Vargez, he’s-”

“He’s too attached to Sophia, I know,” Dalton cut in. He’d known something was up as soon as he’d realized all of Vargez’s intel came from the same girl.

“She’s not a spy, Top,” Amir continued, digging the toe of his boot into the rough gravel of the driveway. “Sooner or later Boothe is going to figure out that she’s been informing on him. And when he does, you’re not going to be here to make sure that Vargez doesn’t try anything stupid.”

Per usual, Amir was already thinking two or three steps ahead of the rest of them. Dalton sighed and rubbed tiredly at his face. “I know, I know. Any suggestions?”

Amir finally stopped fidgeting with a reluctant nod and Dalton suddenly got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t like whatever it was Amir had come up with.

“I’m pretty sure Boothe and his bodyguard made me at the hotel. Not that I’m surprised. I pulled evasive actions right in front of them.” Amir paused looked at Dalton appraisingly, as though trying to predict his CO’s reaction. “But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Dalton closed his eyes briefly. Of course, Amir’s go to always seemed to be putting himself in the line of fire for the sake of the mission. Not for the first time, Dalton wondered if the universe was punishing him for his own self-sacrificing streak. “So, what, you want to put yourself in Ranier Boothe’s crosshairs?”

Amir shrugged. No point trying to talk him out of it, then.

“Hey, it’s a good idea. That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Dalton said pointedly, rubbing at his jaw again. “So we make Boothe think he has a tail, that someone is having him followed.”

Amir nodded. “That way, we can always tie it back to someone else if we need to. A man like Boothe has many potential enemies: the cartel, Uzua…”

“Yeah, alright. You’re right. This could work.”

 

\--

 

A few hours later, as he sat in the surveillance van physically pinning Vargez to his seat and watching Amir head towards Boothe, Dalton hoped to whatever deity was listening that he’d made the right call. Hell, if Amir was right and they’d made him at the hotel, what was to keep Boothe’s bodyguard from capping Amir right there in the street?

And then there was the fact that he’d forgotten to tell the rest of the team what they were planning.

In all fairness, Dalton was team leader and with that came a little extra tactical flexibility. His teammates were used to holding position as he improvised around whatever obstacle popped up.

Regardless, in that moment Dalton was only sure of one thing: McG would kill him if anything happened to Amir. He didn’t know when or how it happened, but the medic seemed to have developed a liking for their newly acquired spook. And Dalton was thoroughly aware that the one person on the team he really didn’t want to piss off was the guy who spent the majority of his time putting everyone else back together.

Amir dodged an oncoming car, stepped onto the sidewalk, and then disappeared behind Boothe’s SUV. Dalton held his breath, listening to his pulse as it pounded in his ears.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

“Looks like we’re clear.”

At Amir’s low murmur, Dalton let out his breath nice and slowly. One hurdle down. “Alright, Jaz, we’ll pick you up around back. We’ll regroup and go from there.”

“We don’t need to regroup. We have pictures of the necklace. She gave me her cell phone.” Jaz sounded pleased. “We’re in business.”

As Vargez finally relaxed at his side, Dalton allowed himself a grin. Finally, things were starting to look up.

 

\--

 

Obviously, he’d jinxed it. Why else was he back on the ground in Sonora when he should’ve been halfway back to the safety of U.S. soil?

“Easy, lover boy!” Jaz snapped at Vargez. Any other day, Top might’ve reprimanded her for mouthing off to another agent, but today he enjoyed the way she sank her teeth into Vargez’s not-so-secret problem. “There’s got to be another way.”

“She stays where she is,” Dalton repeated. “We protect the mission at all costs.”

Standing at the opposite end of the table, arms crossed defensively across his chest, Vargez shook his head tensely. “Then you may as well be pulling the trigger yourself.”

Dalton could feel his face harden at the agent’s words. He was a good soldier, good at following orders and good at completing his missions. But Dalton wasn’t heartless. He was well aware that the assets his team used risked their lives for the greater good. It would feel wrong to repay such a selfless act with what essentially amounted to a death warrant.

“No,” Dalton heard himself say, “they’re going to pull the trigger. We’re going to change the target. Amir?”

From his seat at the table, Amir gave a single, resigned nod. While he didn’t look particularly happy about what he’d have to do, the operative didn’t look surprised. After all, this was exactly what he’d warned Dalton about.

Jaz, on the other hand, could tell she was being kept out of the loop. “You guys care to share with the class?”

“Amir came to me, after the hotel,” Dalton started, when it became clear that Amir was going to defer to him as team leader. “He warned me that the chances of Boothe figuring out Sophia was informing on him was high.”

Vargez let out a sort of strangled sounding laugh but didn’t interrupt. Dalton spared him a glance and continued. “So we came up with a contingency plan which makes Amir the object of his focus, not Sophia.”

“I don’t understand.” Jaz frowned.

“I thought they made me at the hotel, so I spooked him again at the salon,” Amir explained patiently. “Top wants to make it look like I work for Uzua to take suspicion off of Sophia.”

“What, so you weren’t going to tell the rest of us?” Jaz asked, turning her venom on Amir.

Dalton sighed. “It’s called a contingency plan for a reason, Jaz. We were hoping we wouldn’t have to use it.”

“What’s our play, Top?” Preach spoke up, always the voice of calm in the middle of the storm.

One hand came up to rub at his beard as Dalton strategized rapidly. “Boothe is meeting Urzua this afternoon. Jaz, you’re going to plant the money bag on Urzua. Amir, you’ll be waiting out front for Boothe to arrive.”

That didn’t seem to sit well with McGuire, because the medic took two sharp strides forward. “Without any backup? Top, you’re gonna get him killed.”

Amir snorted a laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, McG.”

“Hey, I’m serious-”

“Your concern is noted, McG,” Dalton cut his medic off. They didn’t have time for a democratic discussion. “Vargez, can you get Amir some wheels, something for a quick get away?”

Vargez, whose face had regained some of its color with the sudden change in strategy, actually smiled. “How about a bike?”

 

\--

 

All’s well that ends well. McGuire tried to remind himself of this as he passed their baggage up to Preach, who tucked it in the small plane’s cargo hold. As he handed up his medical pack, McGuire mentally congratulated the team for making it through an entire op without any injuries.

They’d sure come close though. Given that they’d been operating in the heart of cartel territory and had played chicken with an arms dealer, it was a miracle none of them had gotten shot.

And then there was Amir.

When Dalton had first announced he was bringing in an intelligence officer, McGuire hadn’t really seen the point. Hell, they all had some covert training and could blend in or adopt new identities when necessary. But Amir took it to a whole other level, slipping in and out of personas like he was simply changing clothes. More importantly for an Omega team’s purposes, he had the crazy ability to disappear into a crowd, to make himself entirely forgettable. Tactically, this made Amir invaluable and McGuire had already noticed the operative was becoming Dalton’s go-to option in the field.

It wasn’t that McGuire was jealous. It was more like he wasn’t used to running background while someone else put their life on the line.

Zipping his own pack up, McGuire threw a glance at Amir. “That was brave of you, man, making yourself a target like that on the motorcycle.”

Apparently, Amir didn’t know what to do with the compliment, because he didn’t quite meet McGuire’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“We were actually taking bets on whether or not you were gonna get smoked, though,” McGuire felt the need to add, watching Amir’s face.

“The only one who thought you were going to make it was Vargez,” Jaz chimed in.

Amir seemed kind of surprised that even Jaz was giving him some gentle ribbing when Preach added, “Yeah, seriously, Amir. We thought you were gonna get smoked.”

Super spy or not, it was clear to even McGuire that Amir was thrown by the apparent concern his teammates were suddenly showing him. McGuire couldn’t help but think back to the conversation they’d had after Syria about how the operative was used to working alone. The medic wondered if Amir had ever had a team he could rely on, people who worried about him when he was in harm’s way.

McGuire hastily shoved the thought aside and instead decided to take pity on Amir, who stood awkwardly enduring their concerned looks. The medic clapped the smaller man on the shoulder. “He’s messing with you.”

Preach let out a laugh and Amir’s awkward tension dissolved into a gentle chuckle. As McGuire followed his teammates up the ladder and into the plane, he allowed himself a smile. Laughing wasn’t much, but it was a start.


	4. Break Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, keep an eye on Amir for me, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two quick things:
> 
> 1) Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! But never fear, I've got many more chapters coming, especially now that... well, let's not even talk about NBC.
> 
> 2) We're finally getting into headcanon territory. Hope you enjoy!

The Afghani prison was the only building in sight for miles. It stood like a lone sentinel in a landscape of dirt, dry grass, and more dirt. As the team’s humvee pulled to a stop outside the worn-looking concrete building, Dalton swiveled in the passenger seat to throw a wry grin at his teammates. “Don’t say I never take you guys anywhere nice.”

Turning off the ignition, Preach laughed.

They’d been woken up early by the sound of the sat-comm going off. The assignment: take custody of a prisoner currently being held in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan. A prisoner transfer seemed a little below their pay grade, but as Top liked to say, they were the tip of the spear and a spear didn’t stop to ask questions.

Then Noah Morgenthau let slip that the Deputy Director would be joining them in the field for this one and the job suddenly became a whole lot more interesting.

They arrived at Helmand Prison around the same time as a fresh load of Taliban prisoners. Dalton immediately wandered over to greet the warden, while the rest of the team reclined against their humvee, watching the prisoners unload from what looked like a converted livestock truck.

Jaz perched herself on the lip of the humvee’s truck bed, munching at an apple. “Welcome to the Happiness Hotel.”

Amir smirked at her droll tone and shook his head slightly. “Can you imagine checking into this place?”

“Definitely no mints on these pillows,” Preach added, watching as one particularly scarred looking man stood up in the back of the prisoner truck and shuffled his way to the ramp.

Over to Preach’s right, McGuire scoffed. “Definitely no pillows.”

That drew a full-bodied laugh out of Preach and a gentle snort from Jaz. Before they could draw out the joke even further, Dalton strolled back over. Preach nodded at him in acknowledgment. “So, did you get the house rules?”

“Yeah. So, hands outside the cages at all times,” Top nodded, unclipping his long gun from the front of his tac vest. Once the gun was free, he gestured at Preach, Amir, and Jaz. “I want you three on the outside. McGuire, you’re gonna be with us. Sidearms only.”

McGuire huffed but unclipped his long gun all the same. “You want me to take my shoes off, too?”

Jaz gave him a shit-eating grin. “That might be more lethal.”

“Haha.” The medic didn’t seem impressed. He eyed the rather battered looking prison uneasily. “What do they got, 50 guards in there for, like, 2,000 Taliban prisoners?”

Amir shrugged and eyed a particularly huge guard as he forcefully shoved a prisoner to get him walking. “They seem to be doing alright.”

“This the Deputy Director’s idea of vacation?” Jaz wondered aloud.

Preach couldn’t help but smile. “Sun, sand-”

“And Taliban,” McGuire finished.

“Reminds me of that, uh, Somali pirate situation,” Preach chuckled, tucking his hands inside the top of his tac vest. Apparently, Dalton had been thinking the same thing because he gave an enthusiastic nod. Amir, on the other hand, looked between the two older men quizzically.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Seeing Amir’s confusion, Dalton launched into the story. “We caught this dirtbag who had a freighter captain stashed away. Nobody knew where. Several interrogators took a really hard run at the guy. They got nothing. Patricia shows up-”

Preach shook his head at the memory. It had been his first time working with the Deputy Director in the field and it would be an understatement to call it a hell of a first impression. “She ends up locking herself in a closet in the hull of the ship alone with the guy with nothing but a chest full of ice cubes.”

“She walks out three days later and she’s got the guy’s location.” Dalton finished, the look on his face a mixture of respect and amusement.

“Why ice?” Amir wanted to know.

“Because it was hot.” Well, speak of the devil.

DIA Deputy Director Patricia Campbell came up from behind their humvee and it struck Preach that she looked far too happy about the prospect of strolling straight into an Afgani prison. She gave a brief greeting to the whole team before pulling Dalton aside for a quick conference.

The Deputy Director’s back turned, Amir nudged Jaz’s leg and mouthed at her, “That’s Campbell?”

Preach was happy to see that Jaz nodded at him with a smirk and nudged him back with her knee. Maybe she was thinking about retiring the ice queen routine once and for all.

Campbell and Dalton turned back to the group and the Deputy Director fixed her sights on McGuire. “Ready to go?”

“Keep your comms on, but let’s try to keep it to radio silence, yeah?” Dalton offered a final order to the remaining team as he started to follow Campbell towards the massive prison gates.  Then, to Preach’s surprise, Dalton caught his eye and gestured him over with a slight tilt of his chin. “Preach, a word.”

Jaz looked at Preach questioning, but he only shrugged and turned to follow Dalton. It only took the tall tech expert a few steps to fall into stride with his team leader. “What’s up?”

Dalton hesitated momentarily, as though weighing his words. “Hey, keep an eye on Amir for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.” It was such an odd request that Preach almost stopped short. As it was, he sent a quizzical look down at the shorter man when Dalton didn’t elaborate. “Anything in particular I need to know?”

But the gates were already swinging open, so Dalton simply slapped Preach’s shoulder and, with that, headed inside.

 

\--

 

_Hey, keep an eye on Amir for me, yeah?_

Rolling his shoulders to ease the growing stiffness in his neck, Preach sighed quietly to himself. Dalton wasn’t usually one for cryptic half truths or subtext. Sure, the guy could be discreet when he needed to, but when it came to his teammates, Dalton was all straight talk. Which was why his vague parting request was driving Preach crazy.

_Sure, I can keep an eye on Amir, but what the hell am I supposed to be looking for?_

The first thing Preach noticed was that Amir in uniform was… different. The spook didn’t seem necessarily uncomfortable, but he was definitely holding himself more stiffly than usual. Preach wondered if the inflexibility of the uniform made Amir uncomfortable. In his civies, Amir could blend at a moment’s notice, could disappear into another character. In the uniform, not so much.

Jaz gave a sudden, loud exhalation and stretched, pulling Preach out of his musings. “You guys notice that we always seem to get left out of the action?”

That drew a chuckle and a skeptical eyebrow from Preach. “You really wanna go in there?”

“No, but that’s not really the point,” Jaz admitted with a shrug. She wasn’t stupid; it was bad enough that the Deputy Director had gone in, but to have two American women inside the prison? It would’ve been more distraction than it was worth. Jaz gestured with her head in Amir’s direction. “I mean, it makes sense Dalton didn’t take tiny over here, but you and me? We’re just as lethal as McG.”

Preach didn’t respond, though he had to admit Jaz did actually have a point. Dalton was a good team leader and he didn’t discriminate, either when it came to skin color or gender. But if when weighing situational risk, Preach had noticed that his having three daughters at home or Jaz being the only woman seemed to be an almost unconscious deciding factor.

Jaz, however, seemed to have moved on her from apparent boredom, focusing instead on the fact that her teasing had gone completely over Amir’s head. In fact, the operative’s back was to them as he stood, staring intently at the massive prison gates. Jaz took a few steps closer to him and kicked lightly at his foot.

“Hello, earth to Amir.”

The second her boot collided with his, Amir flinched violently, sidestepping quickly to avoid another kick. To anyone else, it might have looked like he was simply adjusting his stance, but now that Preach was really paying attention, he saw the tense jerk of Amir’s shoulders, the way his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and how his right hand inched towards his sidearm before dropping limply to his side. It was the first completely natural, untrained reaction Preach had ever seen out of the other man and he realized it was one of fear.

_What the hell, Top?_

If Jaz noticed the strange behavior, she didn’t mention it, though she didn’t try to touch Amir again. Instead, she shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Somewhere else you gotta be?”

“What?” For a split second, Amir looked almost disoriented as he tore his gaze away from the prison to look at Jaz. Then his gaze sharpened and his expression evened out into something neutral. Preach had to admit, the man was a damn fine actor. “No, sorry, I-”

The rapid staccato of gunfire split the air, cutting Amir off. The three teammates felt into lockstep almost immediately, hurrying around the far side of the humvee to take cover. Jaz threw a look at Preach. “What the hell was that?”

Dalton was suddenly back in their ears, speaking in a rough whisper as he rapped out a sitrep. Preach wanted to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation. Of course they couldn’t have just one nice, easy prisoner transfer. Of course, they’d be here on the day of a freaking prison riot.

“Okay, Jaz.” The sniper was already moving, reaching into the back of the humvee to retrieve her rifle bag. “I need you to find a tower. Set overwatch.”

Amir fiddled unnecessarily with the magazine on his own rifle as Dalton continued to give orders. “Preach, Amir, the main gates are not keyed. They’re operated by a control room. I’m gonna need that open, but not until I say go.”

“We’re on it.”

The last thing Preach wanted to do was walk right into a prison riot, especially if his only backup, Amir, was off his game. But it was his job to head towards danger, not run away from it, so Preach moved quickly and steadily towards a side door they had seen guards using earlier. The tech expert could feel more than hear Amir falling into step behind him.

Preach hit the door with his left shoulder and paused momentarily. Next to him, Amir adjusted his grip on his rifle. They took a single, coordinated breath and then Preach moved forward, pushing open the door and stepping over the threshold.

 

\--

 

Once inside, it became apparent that someone had gotten to the gates before they did. They didn’t have to go far to find bearded prisoners running through the halls, whooping and yelling at each other. The two operatives kept their guns up and scanning, but kept as close to the walls and shadows as possible. They were ghosts.

“Preach, how those gates lookin’?”

Preach came to a stop just behind a set of gates across the main corridor that now sat, open and unguarded. Two sharp pops resounded across the corridor as several prisoners overtook two guards. Tucked back against the wall, Preach thumbed his mic. “Yeah, looks like somebody already opened them. I got a head count on 20 rogue prisoners, armed, in the foyer, on the way to the front door. Two dead guards, small arms fire.”

Noah chimed in from DC and Preach refocused on the prisoners now attempting to kick in the heads of the two very dead guards. He felt a trickle of sweat roll down his neck and resisted the urge to glance back at Amir. In complete contrast to his earlier lack of focus, Amir was completely keyed in, crouched steadily behind Preach, watching their backs.

Then Noah announced that they were not, in fact, looking at a prison riot, but at a prison break, and both Preach and Amir tensed. Preach wanted to shake his head and laugh, but instead, he bit his tongue. Of freaking course.

“Preach, I need you to close those gates.”

Dalton had come up with some pretty bat-shit crazy plans in his day, but this one took the cake. Preach scoffed into the mic. “Look, with all due respect, Top, if the gate’s open, you can get out. If it’s not, you won’t be able to.”

“Yeah, but not at the expense of a thousand bad dudes squirtin’ back into the desert. I don’t need that on my conscience right now, thank you.”

Preach sighed. He might have felt a bit differently if he was talking about just Dalton and McG (those two could handle themselves just fine), but they were hauling a prisoner around. Hell, they had the Deputy Director of the DIA with them. “Yeah, okay. Let me get this clear: you want me to lock you inside of a prison riot?”

“Affirmative.” Top sounded annoyed, as though Preach was the one cramping his style, not the Taliban prisoners. “Get it done, Preach.”

Now Preach did turn to look at Amir, who looked back at him with wide eyes as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Preach offered a short, incredulous shake of his head. “We’re on the move.”

Amir took point this time, backing them back down the corridor and around several corners on their way to the control room. Watching the smaller man’s smooth and decisive movements, Preach almost forgot that Amir wasn’t actually military, that he’d only received four months of tactical training.

Almost.

When they came to a halt just outside the control room, Preach decided he needed to check in. “Real quickly, you completed your close-quarter combat training, correct?”

“Of course, why?” Amir glanced at him quickly before refocusing on the hallway they had just existed.

“‘Cause my instinct’s anticipating close-quarter combat,” Preach said matter of factly. And then he added something he probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t seen that vacant look in Amir’s eyes earlier. “Two rules: number one, shoot the bad guys. Number two, don’t shoot me.”

Breaching the control room took approximately three seconds. Amir took a path towards the far wall while Preach stayed parallel to the door. Emerging from behind a partition, they swung their guns towards the center of the room and each let out a couple of rounds. Two bodies hit the ground.

Targets neutralized, Preach immediately went to the control panel, studying the rudimentary system. Amir hovered over one of the bodies and when he spoke, he sounded shaken. “You shot the guard.”

“Of course,” Preach responded, finally identifying the button he was looking for. “He was one of the bad guys.”

“How do you know?”

That single, strangled question hit Preach over the head like a ton of bricks. Usually, Amir wasn’t just good at reading people. He was an expert at human interaction and quick to pick up on group dynamics. These were skills that he’d perfected over the years, skills that had kept him alive undercover. Any other day and Amir would’ve been the one reprimanding McGuire for asking such a stupid question.

“Well, otherwise they wouldn’t have left him alive.” Preach tried to keep his voice casual, as though it didn’t freak him out that Amir had completely missed the obvious. He pushed a button and heard a distant metallic groan as the outer gates shuddered to life. “Okay, Top, gates are closing. Godspeed.”

  


\--

 

“Preach?”

Sand. There was sand in his mouth and ringing in his ears. Pushing himself up on his elbows with a low groan, Preach turned to the side and spat.

“Anyone report status.” Noah Morgenthau’s tight voice cut through the ringing in his ears. The poor guy sounded like someone had just shot his puppy. Preach knew he should probably answer, but his mic had dislodged sometime during the frantic race to get out of the strike radius.

Pawing at his BDU to try and find his mic, Preach was pleased to note that he was still in one piece. His head throbbed a little from the blast and his knees ached where he had hit the ground, hard, but all things considered, it could have been worse. Somewhere to his right, Jaz coughed and sat up. She was covered in red-brown sand, but otherwise looked alright.

“Everybody good?”

“No harm,” Dalton confirmed, though it might have been a little more convincing if he didn’t remain where he was, sprawled out on the sand panting. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

“Yeah, I’m good,” McGuire answered, crawling over to the tangle of limbs that was the Deputy Director and their prisoner. “How’s the kid? Let me see him.”

As McGuire approached, Amir eased upright from where he’d covered the Deputy Director with his own body. He rocked back into a crouch with a wince, pressing one arm firmly against his ribs. McGuire didn’t see the motion, preoccupied with Nate, but it didn’t escape Preach.

“Amir?”

Amir didn’t answer, simply giving a less than convincing shake of his head before pointing to his earpiece. Momentarily confused, Preach then realized that Noah was still speaking hesitantly in his ear. Finally succeeding in pinning his mic back to his collar, Preaching took pity on the man. “Status is whole, healthy, and delivered like a sinner on a Sunday.”

Striding closer to the rest of the group, Jaz gave him an amused look. “You couldn’t have just said ‘we’re fine?’”

Ignoring the distant sounds of celebration on the other end of their comm line, Preach stepped over to Dalton and offered his team leader a hand up. “And where would be the fun in that?”

Dalton allowed Preach to help him up and patted the other man on the shoulder before surveying the rest of his team. McGuire and Campbell hovered over Nate who lay prone, staining the sand around him red. Jaz was up and had retrieved her rifle to scan the horizon for approaching threats. Behind the group huddled on the ground, Amir stood gingerly, arm still pressed against his abdomen. The team leader frowned. “Amir, you good?”

Nate must have been out of immediate danger because McGuire looked up at Dalton’s words, his brow furrowed. Amir still looked uncomfortable but waved them both off. “I’m fine. Just bruised a few ribs in that first rocket strike.”

McGuire looked like he wanted to protest, but Dalton accepted the excuse. They all knew that ramming full force into a humvee’s hard steering wheel was no piece of cake. The team leader nodded down at Nate. “How’s he doing?”

Campbell stood slowly, trying to brush the blood off of her hands and onto her already ruined pants. She looked dirty and disheveled, but satisfied. “He’ll live, at least long enough for us to get him some real medical attention.”

McGuire stood to join his teammates, huffing slightly. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

That had Dalton chuckling tiredly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Three hours later, enroute back to Incirlik, the team leader wasn’t in such good spirits. Preach watched as Dalton’s eyes slid closed and McGuire jabbed at his shoulder. Hard.

“Hey, stay awake.” The medic sounded annoyed.

Dalton grumbled and leaned as far away from the medic as their flight restraints would allow. He squinted a frown at McGuire. “I heard you the first three times.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause you’re not listening.”

“I’m fine, McG,” Dalton sighed, gesturing over at Amir. “Why don’t you bother Amir? I’m sure his ribs need… something.”

McGuire looked unimpressed. “You’re the one with the head injury, who technically got shot. Seriously, Top, I haven’t ruled out a concussion yet.”

“Would you two shut up?” Jaz hissed, from where she sat in the webbing against the plane’s opposite wall. She nodded her head at the sleeping Amir next to her. “You’re going to wake him up.”

Amir was a notoriously light sleeper, probably a holdover from his days undercover. It was also a pretty well-known fact he had a hard time sleeping around other people. Amir’d been on the team nearly four months and Preach was pretty sure this was the first time he’d seen the operative fall asleep with the rest of the team around.

Technically, now that the mission was over, Preach assumed he didn’t need to keep an eye on Amir anymore. All the same, they were all stuck on the plane for at least another two hours and Preach hadn’t thought to bring a book with him. So instead he sat back and watched.

Preach watched how even in his sleep, Amir’s face seemed guarded, his body tense. Actually, he looked like he was trying to make himself smaller, pressing himself back against the wall of the plane. Amir had his arms crossed, his hands tucked up under his armpits as though protecting himself. Preach watched as Amir woke almost the instant they landed, his eyes opening just a fraction even as he kept his whole body still. It took Preach a second to realize that the operative was trying to feel out his surroundings, to gauge if he was in danger.

It hurt Preach more than he cared to admit that Amir still felt he needed to do that around his team.

 

\--

 

It was almost three in the morning when Preach heard it: the muffled sound of someone gasping. At first, his sleep-addled brain thought he was back at home and he half expected one of his terrified daughters to crawl into bed between him and his wife. Then there was the sound of rustling sheets, someone cursed in Arabic, and a sliver of light illuminated the small room as the door opened and closed.

Amir.

Staring through the dark at the ceiling, Preach contemplated his options. If it were any of his other teammates jerking awake in the middle of the night, Preach would’ve gotten up to sit with them without a second thought. But Amir… well, for starters, the operative was deeply private and Preach couldn’t be sure he’d actually appreciate the company if he was feeling vulnerable. On the other hand, the operative would never open up if no one made the initial effort.

That settled it. One yawn later, Preach hauled himself out of bed.

He thought he might find Amir at the kitchen table, maybe nursing a cup of tea, but the team’s bunker was empty. Instead, he found Amir perched on top of the picnic benches outside, staring out into the night.

“Hey.” Preach kept his voice soft, not wanting to startle the operative. Amir tensed all the same before glancing in Preach’s direction. The tech expert lifted the sweatshirt he’d snagged off of Amir’s bed. “It’s kind of cold out here.”

Amir mumbled a thank you when Preach stepped closer to hand him the sweatshirt and didn’t say a word as the taller man settled onto the one of the benches. Preach considered his next words carefully. “You, uh, want to talk about it?”

The operative didn’t speak, simply ducking his head inside the sweatshirt as he pulled it on. Fair enough, Preach thought. Not everyone was a talker. Adam, for example, would rather cut out his own kidney than sit down for a heart to heart. If Amir didn’t want to go there, then normally Preach wouldn’t push him. Except that the operative had been acting off since they pulled up in front of that Afghan prison and Preach got the distinct impression that Amir felt like he had to tough whatever this was out on his own.

So he took some of his grandmother’s advice and named the beast.

“Look, every single one of us has nightmares from time to time. Unfortunately, it comes with the territory.” When Amir refused to even turn around, Preach stood with a sigh and stretched. “And you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m always ready to listen if you change your mind.”

Preach only made it two steps back towards the bunker before Amir finally broke his silence.

“Last year,” Amir hesitated as Preach stopped short and turned back around. “Last year I was in Egypt, embedded with an ISIS cell. One of my contacts and I got invited to visit with the leadership Syria, but when we got there…”

Amir paused, picking at the hem of one of his sweatshirt sleeves. “We were at a gathering hit by Syrian Special Forces. Half of us they killed and the other half… Well, let’s just say we wished they’d killed us, too. They took us to a military prison.”

Sinking back down onto the bench, Preach felt his blood run cold. Syria was notorious for the conditions of its military prisons. Prisoners were kept in harsh conditions with little to no food, no medical attention, and no access to legal aid. Beatings were common. In the past few years alone, Preach knew that several human rights advocate groups had accused Syria of turning some of its prisons into torture camps. The fact that Amir had made it out alive and in one piece - especially if they thought he was a member of ISIS - was practically a miracle.

“How long were you there?” Preach breathed, almost afraid to ask.

Amir gave a jerky shrug, every line of his body tense. “Time doesn’t mean much when you’re sitting in a box in the dark. When the CIA was finally able to transfer me out, they said I’d been missing six months.”

Six months. Preach could barely believe it. Amir had spent six months in hell with no way to know that anyone was still out there looking for him or fighting for him to come home. It was no wonder why Amir never let his guard down, why he didn’t let himself completely rely on the team. The thought of Amir, isolated, hurt, and alone for six months made Preach feel sick to his stomach.

“I was sent back stateside, made it through recovery fine.” Amir rubbed at his face, his voice shaky. “But then today, when we pulled up to that prison-”

Preach nodded in understanding. “It was all just a little too familiar.”

“Yeah.”

Amir lapsed into silence after that and Preach stayed seated beside him, not knowing what to say but not wanting his teammate to be alone. And some point, something caught his eye and he turned to see Dalton looking at them from the bunker door. The team leader had his arms crossed over his chest and a grim look on his face, but he nodded at Preach in acknowledgment. Preach nodded back, finally understanding Dalton’s cryptic request.

_Don’t worry, Top. I’ll keep an eye on him._


End file.
